


i put a spell on you

by helenecixous



Category: Last Tango In Halifax
Genre: F/F, Yikes, i think this is my favourite thing i've written????, this is just me being really super gay for slancs again sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-01
Updated: 2016-06-01
Packaged: 2018-07-11 12:38:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7051843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helenecixous/pseuds/helenecixous
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They’ll waste no more weekends under false pretenses, making excuses to phone each other or visit. No more time will be wasted, because this is what they want - what they’ve wanted from the very start. Everything else had been prologue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i put a spell on you

**Author's Note:**

  * For [firelordazulas](https://archiveofourown.org/users/firelordazulas/gifts).



“Are y’ sure sure it's gonna be okay, me comin’ with you, instead of 'is dad?” Gillian asks. She's perched on the end of the bed, looking a little uncomfortable as she plucks the sleeve of her cardigan.

“Oh, you know Will and how he feels about John,” Caroline says, coming out of the bathroom and looking at Gillian. “Anyway, it's a nice break for the both of us - a weekend away, and he'll be glad to see you.”

They've booked a hotel for the weekend, a hotel in Oxford, and they’re both pretending that they’re there together because it’s been stressful at home, because they always have work or children or shitty ex husbands to deal with, and that isn’t a complete lie. It’s just that it’s probably  _ more truthful  _ to admit, at least to themselves, that they’re there together because recently they’ll take any and every opportunity to spend time together, although neither of them are quite ready to think about exactly why.

Caroline's been all nostalgic since they arrived, not sure whether she should be more excited to be back at her own university town, or more emotional that her son’s graduating from her own university. She'd dragged Gillian around the town a little bit before she'd taken her to the most expensive looking hotel Gillian had  _ ever  _ seen, and then checked them both in.

“Yeah but I'm not, like, any relation to him. I don't want him to be disappointed when you turn up w’ me.”

“He won't be,” Caroline says, scrunching her hair with the towel to dry it. “Don't worry so much.” She stops, turns as there's a knock on the door. 

Gillian grins and stands, because Caroline's wrapped in a towel, and opens the door. There's a man in a suit holding the champagne that really ought to be free, given the cost of the hotel, and he's saying something but Gillian's already thanking him and closing the door. 

“Finally some results,” Gillian says, holding up the bottle with a grin. “Want some…  _ Henri Abelé Brut Millésimé 2007?” _ she asks, amusement tinting her tone. “Limited edition an’ all. Christ, Caroline, this bottle of booze costs more than me fuckin’ mortgage.”

“Good job you're not paying then, hm?” Caroline asks, handing Gillian two glasses before she lets the towel drop and turns to her suitcase, her lips pursed.

Gillian spends enough time watching Caroline to blush just slightly before she focuses on opening the bottle and pouring two glasses, and then she returns to sit on the bed with her legs crossed, watching Caroline watch the suitcase. 

Caroline's just standing there, contemplating the suitcase like it holds the answer to life, or like she's waiting for another outfit to materialise before her eyes. She's completely comfortable to stand there in her underwear in front of Gillian, and then she's suddenly pulling a dress out and in a blur of dark green she's shimmying it up and over her hips and sorting her boobs out. It's strapless and it clings to her, and it looks incredible.

Gillian takes a sip of wine from both glasses thoughtfully as Caroline waits for an opinion. “Hm,” she begins. “Not really what came to mind when I thought about your son graduating,” she says, grinning. “Bit slaggy, really.”

Caroline laughs and picks up the closest thing to hand - a balled up pair of tights - and lobs them in Gillian’s general direction. They miss by what’s quite an embarrassing distance, and Gillian’s laughing about it as she sips the wine again.

“Do you want a straw with that?” Caroline asks, wiggling out of the dress. “Just forego the glass. Have a straw with the bottle.” She folds the dress up and lays it to the side, and then leans over the suitcase to take the fullest glass from Gillian’s hand, takes a sip, and hands it back. “I only brought three dresses,” she says. “There was no more room. I should have picked one before we left.”

“No, really?” Gillian asks dryly. “Shocker. You’re a genius, Caz. I can really see how you got that doctorate.” She leans forward, peering into the suitcase. “Surely you could have stuffed a few more between the spare duvet and the waffle iron - sorry, I mean, the curlers, or whatever they are.” She pauses, puts one glass down and then pulls out something that looks vaguely terrifying, with a cord. “What  _ are  _ they?”

“It’s a hair iron,” Caroline explains, looking at her as an amused smirk tugs at her lips. “You detach the top, and put whatever you want on it. So you can do tight curls, ringlets, you can crimp it… or straighten it. It’s quite nifty.”

“I see,” Gillian says, putting it back down carefully, as though it’s an injured animal that might decide to bite her at any second. “Completely, totally essential.”

“Oh shut up,” Caroline says, eyeing the glass in Gillian’s hand. “Are you going to leave any of that for me?”

“There’s a question,” Gillian says, shrugging. “How long is it gonna take you to get dressed?”

Caroline rolls her eyes and grabs the tights, unrolling them and sitting on the edge of the bed so she could roll the black nylon over the arch of her foot and up her calf, and Gillian almost rolls her eyes. There’s no need for Caroline to be so  _ sensual,  _ but Gillian finds herself watching carefully anyway. She distracts herself by taking another sip of wine, staring down at the amber liquid intently as Caroline pulls the tights up slowly, and when she looks back up she swears that Caroline had been watching her, looking a little bit too knowing, a little bit too amused.

The next dress that goes on is a dark purple. Gillian would compare it to a plum, or a dark amethyst, if Gillian was that kind of person. Caroline turns, presents her back to her, wordlessly asking her to zip her up, and Gillian’s seen enough terrible chick flicks to know where this kind of situation is headed. For the split second they’re touching, Caroline’s skin is warm and soft beneath Gillian’s touch, and there’s a scatter of goosebumps that appear around the other woman’s hand.

Gillian sits back, and Caroline turns, fluffs her hair and spreads her hands. “Well?”

Gillian finishes the glass that’s in her hand and reaches for the other one, taking a hearty swig before she answers, running her tongue over her lips to collect the stray droplets. “You look, um, it looks - yeah. You look good. It’s nice. Yeah.” She nods once. “Yeah.”

Caroline turns and walks to the mirror, inspecting herself from the side and running her hands down her hips to smooth out the invisible creases. The dress is made from a silky fabric that fits itself against every dip, showing Gillian dips and curves that she’s never noticed before, and it’s just the right amount of revealing for the type of ceremony they’re going to. She turns again, looks over her shoulder into the mirror, her hands on her hips, and then she looks over her other shoulder, humming.

Gillian’s too preoccupied looking at the freckles across Caroline’s skin - she didn’t know Caroline had so many - and she’s thinking about how much she’d like to kiss them, to leave trails of sweet kisses along her throat and collarbones and shoulders when she comes to and realises Caroline had said something.

“Sorry - what?”

Caroline smiles, and it’s soft but cruel and inviting all at once. She steps into her heels and saunters over to Gillian, and Gillian can’t stop the way her stomach twists at that. The heels are sinking into the fluffy carpet, and Caroline’s looking pointedly at the glass in her hand, and Gillian realises with a jolt that it’s empty. She had no idea that she could be rendered quite so useless with a look and a slightly provocative walk.

“Is the wine nice?” Caroline asks, coming to a halt next to the bed and bending slightly, letting her hand fall to Gillian’s bicep. It’s a perfectly normal gesture, a touch that isn’t at all new to either of them, but it’s suddenly electrifying, loaded with something that’s been simmering for months and months, something that’s just about to come to a head.

“I - what? Yeah? It’s good, it’s - yeah it’s nice?”

“Just nice?”

Gillian flounders, searching Caroline’s gaze desperately.

Caroline takes pity and leans even closer, and it’s a wonder she doesn’t fall over in those heels. She rests her fingertips beneath Gillian’s chin and tilts her head upwards slowly, and Gillian thinks her heart’s about to stop. Caroline Elliot is about to kiss her, and she’ll go into cardiac arrest, and she’ll die like that, the  _ happiest  _ woman on the planet. They’re so close that they can feel each other’s breath, Gillian can see the mascara on each lash, Caroline can smell Gillian’s musky perfume.

In a surge of courage and a desperate campaign, a final effort to regain some sort of control over the situation, Gillian bridges the gap and presses her lips to Caroline’s gently, and she’s surprised at how quickly and easily Caroline responds.

Gillian tastes like the wine and mint and something that’s so intrinsically her, and Caroline uses both hands now to tug her shoulders, to encourage her to stand. They part and Gillian looks up at the other woman, breathless and dizzy with it all.

“The wine  _ is  _ nice,” Caroline murmurs, her eyes soft. “Worth the money, I think.”

“Is  _ anythin’  _ worth that kinda-” Gillian interrupts herself, because Caroline’s too warm and too soft and her lips are reddened and she can’t - she just  _ can’t  _ stand this close and not run her fingers through her blonde hair, and not kiss her again and again, small kisses that turn into lingering ones that turn into something deeper, and the only thing she can think about is how much she wants to cover every inch of this woman in kisses. And maybe it’s the wine, or the grandeur of the hotel, the weekend away, the implications of Gillian being invited to Caroline’s son’s graduation, the dress, the heels, or maybe it’s a combination of everything, or maybe it’s nothing, but neither of them want to think about that right now. Gillian tugs Caroline to her, presses kisses to her jaw, and smiles to herself.

They’ll waste no more weekends under false pretenses, making excuses to phone each other or visit. No more time will be wasted, because this is what they want - what they’ve wanted from the very start. Everything else had been prologue.

**Author's Note:**

> tori sent me a prompt for caroline/gillian 'sharing a drink'. i took 9748363 liberties and that's really not what this is like. at all. but i had a lot of fun lmao.


End file.
